


hope is the thing with feathers

by ojeriza



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:36:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ojeriza/pseuds/ojeriza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Whoever turned you, wanted you to be theirs, needed you to be theirs eternally, for they saw no beauty in ephemerality."</p><p>Loki reminds Thor of home, of a time he has no recollection anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hope is the thing with feathers

**Author's Note:**

> So, I watched Only Lovers Left Alive a couple of months ago, and I finally found the time to write this. It's _not_ based on it, but I guess Adam's character inspired me this time.

_"Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops at all."_

 

 

“I would say a god put you in my life,” he says with a chuckle. His eyes are fixed on his hands, fingers drawing flourish designs on the snow.

“Do you believe in gods?” He asks; the _still_ hangs unsaid in the air because Loki is _different,_ he reminds himself.

“I believe in many things, but mostly I believe in nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“After a time it just…” he trails off. Green eyes skitter across the snow to the sky, then settle on Thor’s face. “You just stop trying to understand; life, death, why are we what we are. It’s pointless after a time.”

“You were born with it,” he points out.

Loki looks away, as if embarrassed. He looks younger and too small. “I know,” he says. “But I feel like a cancer as well.”

 

* * *

 

After a time you begin to fade.

You had a face, mouth and nose, but it all went away. It vanished like a burning photograph and yet, you remain; intact, unmoving, unchanging. Everything becomes ephemeral as you wander across immortality.

You look at your hands, and they are pale and long, the veins are visible and a constant reminder; you try not to look at your fist as you flex your fingers. It makes it worse.

 

* * *

 

“I could feel it, in their eyes, in their carefully hidden semblance; their envy.”

“It’s hard, to watch someone age. You’re painfully aware of it, painfully aware of the nearing end.”

“They were jealous, Thor. I’m no mere human.”

The smile he gives is doleful. A saddening downward curl of plump lips.

“I know.”

They keep quiet. They’re used to it, to the stillness, the solitude. The world seemed to become mute; the silence a thick cloak around their existence. Thor noticed it the moment he truly woke up for the last time.

“I’ve reached a point. I can feel it. I won’t age anymore. I haven’t changed in a long time.”

“I know,” he repeats. His eyes roam across Loki’s small frame.

That smile never leaves his face.

 

* * *

 

You don’t have photographs, family or souvenirs. You mostly have nothing. But you had a family once and a house and tokens and a life. Now, the memory is too distant, fragmented, bleached. The voices, the touches, the faces, they all disappear slowly. A constant death in your mind as you try to remember what was once there, what you were once part of.

What doesn’t disappear, though, is reality.

Never slowing down, always unforgiving. Taking things away and leaving you with nothing but regrets and the heavy weight of your circumstance, of your situation.

 

* * *

 

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

Thor looks down with a sense of melancholic despair. There are so many things Loki doesn’t know and won’t ever know. He wants Loki to be part of something normal, wants them to have a life together. A normal life; one that ends.

“I can’t remember,” he says, and it’s partially true.

“Tell me about your life. What can you remember?”

“I had…” he trails off, uncertain. It’s been a long time ago. “A brother, or a cousin. Someone younger, closer. You remind me of him.”

“How can I remind you of someone you can’t remember?”

Thor smiles. He touches Loki’s cheek, cold and smooth. Thin veins beneath the translucent skin draw his attention whenever they’re close; delicate, but immortal.

“In my eyes you’re my brother.”

Loki smiles, a slow curl of his lips. His hands rest upon Thor’s, and he closes his green eyes.

“Oh, Thor,” he murmurs, curling against his breast.

 

* * *

 

You had someone once. They had life in their blood vessels and you made a point of not sucking it away. They had a present that you were part of, it lured you and all the possibilities attracted you like a moth to the flame, dangerous but seductive. They also had a future, bright and short.

This time, you weren’t part of it.

You’re never in someone’s future, you’re not allowed in there.

 

* * *

 

Loki is always intrigued by Thor’s beard. He likes to skim his pale fingers across his jaw, eyes shining with fascination as his tongue pokes out of his mouth to lick at his lips.

“It’s so rough,” he says; one hand touching his own cheek, feeling the flesh, the soft skin.

Thor allows him. He always let Loki do what he wants. After all, all they have is each other. He wouldn’t trade Loki for anything, not even a life.

Or painless death.

Loki is his little brother.

And when Loki leans forward, thin lips touching his chin, his jawline and the place beneath his ear, Thor lets him. Fluttering blue eyes close and strong hands hold his bony shoulders.

“Loki,” he says, too weakly to be considered a warning.

“Thor,” he purrs.

The silence is always heavy, but their words are heavier, thick with meaning.

 

* * *

 

You miss things, how they used to be. You don’t remember them anymore, but you know anything could be better than what you have now; a vast, interminable afternoon. You don’t sleep but you always wake up, it’s a feeling of never properly sleeping, of never having a good night’s rest.

Sometimes you just want to die and start a new day, rested and reinvigorated.

You can’t.

 

* * *

 

Thor thought the key to his problems was to travel around the world, so he crossed the globe countless times, always seeking something different, something he was lacking.

“Start anew,” they said, “You can’t run away from your problems. They always come back, because they’re yours.”

Thor knew, but that didn’t stop him. He couldn’t run away from himself, but he could try. He had the eternity, after all. The immortality, his own heavy burden.

Someone once said meditation would help. “It makes you watch your memory as if you were someone else. Nothing can bother you then.”

Thor tried it for years. It made him see with a new perspective the lives he’s had, those that would quickly die and be replaced by another. Decades after decades, he learned and understood each of them, but the emptiness stayed. The heavy burden, the knowledge that things were bound to be forgotten, to disappear. To die.

For years, he thought it would help.

It didn’t, but someone else did.

 

* * *

 

It’s the color of blood, a scarlet they’re well familiar with.

Loki holds it close to his body, draped over his shoulder, hanging gracefully over his limbs. It’s a cape his brother probably stole from a victim.

He can see bits of naked skin: bony collarbones, the peeking knees, and when Loki stops, at his last step, he catches the glimpse of the pale canvas of his left thigh.

“Tell me something you wish I could experience.”

He touches the back of his neck and holds him there, stroking the soft hair at his nape. Green eyes stares up at him, expectant and ever shining, somewhat teary. With his other hand, he strokes Loki’s cheek. Staring at thin lips, Thor leans down and kisses him.

It’s slow and hesitant, with Loki humming at the feeling of both their mouths touching. His hands grasp thick arms and hold them tightly, pulling his body closer.

Thor hasn’t felt anything in a long time, but when their tongues meet, he tastes something more addictive than blood. It floods him with a sensation he can’t name, not when his mind seems so fogged and dizzy.

If he could will himself to remember, Thor would say Loki makes him feel alive.

 

* * *

 

You wonder how Earth will cease to exist. You’ve been wandering across the globe for too long and know that civilization and cities have been destroyed, you know how life is delicate and momentary.

You wonder whether or not you’ll have someone by your side, and who will die first and if it’ll hurt. You’re scared of the truth now, you can’t bear it anymore.

 

* * *

 

“Describe me,” Loki once says.

They’re lying side by side on the floor, pillows all around them making a fort.

Thor can barely remember how he does look, but Loki has never seen his own face, has never seen his reflection in the mirror. He thinks it’s a great injustice that his brother isn’t able to see how truly enthralling and alluring he is. To look at his beauty and be spellbound like Narcissus.

Sometimes, Thor thinks he could stare at Loki for eternity.

“Your lips are thin, and right after you feed they become impossibly rosy. Every time I look at your mouth, I want to kiss it.

Your eyes, for some reason, are always teary, as if you were about to cry. I find this oddly appealing. I know you can kill a grown man in the blink of an eye, but this innocent look suits you well, brother.

They are green and vivid, a color seen only at daylight. I feel blessed for seeing them at all times.

You have high cheekbones, so sharp I often see the shadows under them. It makes you look aristocratic. Your nose, your hairline, your eyelashes, they all befit you perfectly.”

Loki stares at him with large eyes, impossibly big and shiny, and Thor trails his fingertips across his jawline, his cheekbones and rests the tip of his thumb on his bottom lip.

“Kiss me,” Loki says.

Thor does.

 

* * *

 

“You never answered me. Do you believe in gods?”

Loki looks up and smiles. He’s on the floor, cross-legged and reading Emily Dickinson.

“I prayed, Thor. I was going to do the unthinkable, let the sun touch my skin, finish me, but I prayed.”

Thor doesn’t believe in gods anymore. He’s tried all kinds of them, but somehow he found the deities lacking in something that was important, that _should_ be important.

He’s heard about Oya and immediately took to her. When it rains, it reminds him of the goddess; he stands in the middle of the street with nothing to protect his body and focus on the raindrops on his skin, on his scalp, on his face.

It makes him feel different, young and ephemeral. But his prayers go unheard, so Thor prefers to think he’s an atheist than to believe no god would care for him.

“Would you have…” he stops, surprised, staring fixedly at him. “The pain is unbearable, we all know how—”

“ _Pain_ is our existence. That would be mercy.”

Thor has thought about it a couple of times, but he’s never let sunlight touch his hand or arm for more than five seconds. It not only burns, but also seems to pare off the flesh.

Thor doesn’t know much about pain, he can’t remember from the time he was alive and now he can’t feel it, but he knows sunlight provides the most unbearable kind.

“Don’t do it again.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you,” he says. He’s lived all these centuries searching for something that would give meaning to his existence, which would make the burden seem less overwhelming. “Because I need you.”

Loki carelessly drops his book and stands, he encircles Thor’s waist with his arms in a tight embrace, holding him close, and buries his nose on broad chest.

“I want you too,” he says, voice thin and small. “I need you, and I need you to need me.” He looks up, chin resting on Thor’s breast, the need for reassurance painted in bright green eyes.

He holds the back of his neck and leans downward, kisses soft lips and licks his way inside. Listens to the soft sounds his little brother makes, and deepens the kiss. Searching, reassuring, needing.

Demanding.

 

* * *

 

Fear has a new name now. An idea and feeling behind the word. For you, it had been taught, the first thing you learned when you transformed, but now it’s something else. Now, it’s losing someone, it’s seeing them burn, it’s knowing their pain.

Fear is dreading that they’ll let go.

Expecting them to let go of you.

 

* * *

 

His lips are scarlet, his face stained, and there’s blood slowly dripping down from his chin.

“You’ve been feeding too much lately.”

“I like to feel warm.”

“It’s a dangerous path,” Thor says, rubbing the underside of thin wrists.

“I want to try something.” Loki holds him close, so close Thor can envelop his entire small body against his own. “I want to try it, brother. Please.”

Loki’s scent reminds him of home, of somewhere he has no image or memories, only the reminiscence of it, but he knows it, he knows it was a safe place. His scent is the only thing that comes to his mind, the smell and the feeling of belonging.

It’s enough.

Thor concedes.

 

* * *

 

His fingers skim across the pale canvas of Loki’s chest, unblemished and smooth. He kisses protruding hipbones, concave tummy and small nipples, licking the rosy nubs and sucking them with leisure.

Loki’s thin body writhes under his, spine curving and legs falling apart like an invitation. “Please,” he says, baring his neck and biting his bottom lip. “Please, brother.”

Thor holds his hands, bends forward and licks at Loki’s collarbone, the hollow of his throat and his slim neck, kisses his pulse and bites down. He hears him gasp in surprise, and it’s probably the first time Loki has ever gasped for air.

Loki’s hand travel across the expanse of his back, holding him tighter, closer; He whispers small, incomprehensible things and purrs against his ear, moaning when Thor moves against him. He bares his fangs and hisses, sinking them into the flesh of a broad shoulder.

Thor grunts, uttering a low groan when he thrusts in for the first time, and hears the breathy moan that leaves his brother’s mouth. He closes his eyes and rests his forehead on Loki’s, waiting, feeling overwhelmed. Heavenly.

He feels the tip of his brother’s tongue lick at his lips, seeking entrance. Thor opens his eyes to find Loki staring, irises a thin ring around his blown pupils.

“Loki,” he murmurs, rocking his hips a little. He moves back slowly, biting his bottom lip at the smooth glide and sinks back in, jolting Loki’s body so roughly it almost makes his head hit the headboard.

A long, choking mewl, almost like a sob leaves his mouth, a chant of Thor’s name on thin lips as he claws at the broad back.

Green eyes open and search for blue ones. “Brother,” he says. A hungry smile curling up, a feverish look on him.

Thor doesn’t look at anything but Loki; his expression, his lips, damp and swollen, his throat, pale and bruised, the way he bares his neck and moans lowly, openly. The way his hands won’t stop moving, how frantic he seems.

He’s reminded this is the first time Loki feels this way. Thor brings his hand to Loki’s cock and strokes him, revelling in the scream he lets out, the low groan when he climaxes, the clenching muscles around his flesh, the way he bends his spine, burying Thor’s dick deep inside him before subsiding with a sated smile on his lips.

“Brother,” he whispers, pulling him down to kiss his mouth.

Thor comes the moment Loki sucks on his tongue.

 

* * *

 

He wants to be reminded of it, to have a memory come back to life. To have a face in his mind.

“Describe me,” Thor once says.

They’re lying side by side on their back, shoulders and hands touching lightly. The mattress is soft beneath them and the sun is about to rise. Hooded-eyes and exhaustion.

Loki turns to his sides, a smile curving his lips as he traces Thor’s profile. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever come across,” he says, straddling his hips.

“Whoever turned you, wanted you to be theirs, needed you to be theirs eternally, for they saw no beauty in ephemerality.

Your eyes are the color of something I cannot witness, and for this I am grateful I have you.” Loki skims the tip of his fingers over the side of his eyes and brows, his temple. “But I could live without them, though not without you.

Your lips are so plump sometimes I worry my thirst for biting them will rouse my fangs and I’ll suck you dry.

When you feed, you look impossibly feral, muscles straining until the human falls pliant in your arms. Your eyes become scarlet and the color matches your lips as the look on your face becomes calm and sated.

Sometimes I can see freckles on the bridge of your nose,” he says, a look of concentration on his face as he narrows his eyes. They become red, bright and translucent. “And I like to kiss them.” He smiles, leans forward and kisses his cheeks, his nose, each of his freckles.

“Kiss me,” Thor says.

Loki does.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t feel like a burden anymore, like you’re Sisyphus, all alone and rolling a boulder up a mountain, and all at once it dawns on you, _it hasn’t for a long time_. Now, you don’t carry it alone, you share the burden with someone who understands, who looks at your eyes and _sees_.

It makes you want to protect him, because you cherish that boy, cannot seem to find anything that you would love more than him; than his voice, his presence and smile, the feeling of his body against yours.

This is the thought that scares you the most.

 

* * *

 

Thor doesn’t close his eyes when he kisses Loki; he looks down at soft, pliant lips, at pale cheeks, at sharp cheekbones. He doesn’t want to miss anything.

“Close your eyes,” he says, a mischievous smile gracing his thin mouth.

When Thor keeps staring, Loki leans forward and kisses his eyes shut. “Don’t open them,” he orders, sitting back on his calves.

Thor waits. His fingers flex and his hands twist upon his thighs, until he hears a soft chuckle; Loki’s cold hand is soon holding one of his.

The silence is light and comfortable, then soft lips touch his mouth, and Thor tastes blood.

“Open your eyes,” he says, but Thor is already doing that.

Loki’s lips are tainted with scarlet, keen fangs dripping blood over his chin, which slowly glides down his throat.

Blue eyes dart to the bleeding wrist, so delicate and thin Thor thinks he could easily break the bones.

“Drink it,” he says, pointing at it with his chin.

He holds his arm, closes his mouth around the wound and sucks. His eyes never leave Loki’s.

“I feel...” he murmurs, closing his eyes for a moment, as if drowsy. “Oh, Thor.” He lets his head drape on Thor’s shoulder.

“Loki,” he whispers, licking the cut clean.

“Yeah,” he sighs languidly, still leaning against the broad chest.

Thor touches the back of his neck and strokes the hair at his nape, twirling one inky curl in his finger.

“Drink mine,” he says in a murmur.

And he doesn’t need to wait, Loki’s fangs are slowly piercing his skin, sucking on his jugular vein. Thor grasps bony hips and brings his body closer.

Loki hums against the flesh and sucks, savoring the taste with his scarlet eyes closed. Afterwards, he licks at the wound until it stops bleeding.

“Brother,” he says, looking up at him.

Thor smiles and pulls Loki into his lap, making him straddle his waist and throw his arms around his shoulders. He kisses rosy lips and suck on his tongue. He kisses Loki until he can’t taste blood anymore and his brother’s thin body become pliant in his embrace. It feels reassuring.

And this time, his eyes are closed.

 

* * *

 

 _"And sweetest in the Gale is heard; and sore must be the storm that could abash the little bird that kept so many warm. I've heard it in the chillest land and on the strangest sea yet, never, in extremity, it asked a crumb of me."_ Emily Dickinson

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it and didn't feel disappointed with the lack of vampire activities in this. I do enjoy them, but somehow it didn't seem to flow. My main point was Thor's view on his existence and disappearing memories.
> 
> Anyway, any feedback is overly appreciated and you can also find me on [tumblr](http://yabokuus.tumblr.com/).


End file.
